


Because He Made Me

by jardindesetoiles



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A lot - Freeform, DON'T BE FOOLED, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Melkor is actually a huge dick, this hurt to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 12:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3327113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jardindesetoiles/pseuds/jardindesetoiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, I've had the final scene of "This Game We Play" burned into my head since I first read it, pretty much, and I finally had to write what I believe Melkor was thinking in those final moments... because my heart is still broken.  Yeah.  And be warned, I literally have this saved in my computer simply as 'Ouch'.  Implied Angbang, and HEAVILY implied domestic violence/abuse.  Please do NOT think this is romantic.  It may seem that way but no, if you read it in the context of Melkor's attitude in TGWP, it is NOT SWEET AND NOT ROMANTIC AND IT JUST HURTS OKAY.  Okay, I'm done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because He Made Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theeventualwinner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theeventualwinner/gifts).



> Be warned, I literally have this saved in my computer simply as 'Ouch'. Implied Angbang, and HEAVILY implied domestic violence/abuse. Like, so much so I debated rating this as Mature. PLEASE DO NOT think this is romantic. It may seem that way but no, if you read it in the context of Melkor's attitude in TGWP, it is NOT SWEET AND NOT ROMANTIC AND IT JUST HURTS OKAY. Okay, I'm done.

I never told him, had resolved myself -never- to tell him. My lieutenant, my greatest jewel. Never could he know that I would have cast away the Silmarils like common rocks, if I’d had to choose. Every time, I would have chosen him. My glorious, shining Maia, who stood by my side no matter how many times I tested him, no matter how far I would try to push him. I could destroy him, body and soul, and still he would return to me, begging for me. I did not understand it, do not understand it. He should hate me as they all do, he ought to spit upon me, and despise me, and curse my very name. Instead, he chooses to bend himself to my will, no matter how capricious my desire. He is graceful in his failure, and takes every punishment. He may beg, in those moments, but it is never for mercy. He apologizes, but it is not for what he has done, never. No, he apologizes because I must do these things to him. And it burns me, to hear him say such things, for doesn’t he know he is so high above those sentiments? So I am merciless, because I must be, because he allows me to be. Though the spill of his blood over my fingers is as water to the thirsting, I ignore my desire to drown in it. Instead, I let it flow carelessly, taking bits of his essence and draining his mortal shell simply because he allows me the privilege. It stains me, in a manner that will never be washed away no matter how hard I try, and yet I do not stop. Every pained cry I know he harbors, I strain to hear, as the pious for their lord. Yet he does not grant me those melodious screams, and why? Does he consider me so unworthy of them? I am his lord and he is my thrall, and he ought to give them freely. He forces me to this. He forces me. I do not enjoy seeing him so broken, truly, but he leaves me no choice.

 

And thus, when I stand before him, where he has nearly been taken from me due to my own denial, where I nearly lost him for good, I cannot bear to tell him. In place of words, I kiss him, burning to my memory, -my final memory-, how the silver in his eyes still sparkles like the stars I so fear. And I give him that which I know he wants not: I give him all of myself because he must have it; he must be kept safe, for I may endure the Void itself, and countless tortures, so long as I know he lives. My beautiful, shining Maia, whose eyes now shine with the golden power I once held. There is horror in those eyes, and I know that at last, I have achieved what I had at first set out to accomplish: I have broken him. Any strength he had to go against me is gone, and I want to laugh at the cruel irony of it all. After so many ages of strength in the face of my cruelty, he cries and he weeps, and he screams in desperation, every last shout of pain and anguish that he would not give me before, flowing freely from his angelic lips. He screams my name, and I do not try to tell him, do not try to run, for he gives me the strength to face that which I most fear. In its face I stand, awaiting the barrage and my own downfall.

 

And I apologize, not because I am sorry for what I have done, but because he makes me do this to him.


End file.
